


big enough to hold your love

by paradox_n_bedrock



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Church of Lilith, F/F, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Light Angst, Masturbation, Post-Caligari Spell (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religious Content, Sexual Repression, Softness, part 3 au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22061320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradox_n_bedrock/pseuds/paradox_n_bedrock
Summary: Still devout, and empowered with both her position as High Priestess and her unique brand of cognitive dissonance, Zelda copes with her new faith, her deity's unpredictable visits, and the inescapable presence of the woman whose appearance Lilith stole. [Post-Part 2]
Relationships: Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith, Zelda Spellman/Original Mary Wardwell
Comments: 55
Kudos: 123





	1. Attention is the beginning of devotion. - Mary Oliver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first thing I've written for fun in over 10 years, so please share your thoughts. Thanks to Aviariies for getting me on track by annotating the first couple chapters with amazing detail, and IRL buddies for some enthusiastic feedback.

Zelda’s faith had always sustained her. Serving the Dark Lord had been her life’s purpose. But now, rather than feeling adrift, her faith was a physical presence, filling her with the strength to lead in this vulnerable time. She had already begun restructuring the Academy’s curriculum and doing away with the Church of Night’s most ill-thought-out rituals, while trying her best to maintain some comfort of tradition. It pained her, at times, though she recognized the necessity. The devastation of the coven had gotten out, and already other broken covens and ex-communicated witches were reaching out to her for support or asylum. She hadn’t planned on broadcasting the details, at least until Lilith’s reign was solidified, but a change this monumental was hard to keep quiet. She expected they were all going to be officially excommunicated and branded heretics any day.

All the while, she felt as though Lilith walked beside her, though she knew the woman was occupied with hell’s politics. She prayed to her with her every action, as well as words, feeling certain Lilith would rather have that than her ceremonially prostrate and tried to set that example for her congregation. She had survived treating Lilith as an equal ( _or less_ , she thought with a cringe) on earth and saw no need to change that as her High Priestess, though she swallowed down the discomfort that came with that concept. Part of her saw herself a peer to Lilith, and another part wanted to throw herself at her feet. She had revered Lilith since she was a young witch and, based on their last interactions, it seemed Lilith had difficulty reconciling their new positions as well. 

She did have her moments of doubt, in the stillness of early morning, when the memories of Faustus’ spell were sharp claws forcing her out of bed. She would sit on the porch, swinging idly just to know she could, wondering if her faith was once again misplaced. If Lilith would be another to teach her a lesson on how unworthy of a subject she was. What had Lilith done, besides lie and scheme and unseat the last men to take advantage of her devotion? But later, when she sat at the breakfast table, looking over Hilda and Sabrina and the other charges she has taken responsibility for, she found it easy to push those fears down, convincing herself that faith was nothing if unquestioned. Perhaps the Queen of Hell would appreciate it all the more for being challenged. 

She was eager for Lilith to come to her again, and wondered what face she would wear when she did. Would it be Mary Wardwell’s? Another disguise? Or her true face, however monstrous or beautiful it may be. Zelda rather suspected she would find her lovely and infuriating regardless. 

The first time she bumped into the real Ms. Wardwell one on one, she was out running errands for Hilda. She owed Hilda for picking up the slack with the business, but heaven did it make her rue her sister’s growing backbone. She had a church and school to run, as well as the administrative portion of the mortuary. Being pulled away from her work annoyed her, no matter how _fair_ it might be. As did the too bright, too cold fluorescent lighting of the grocery store. However, when she spotted her amongst the produce, the irritation faded away. Her breath caught, for this was the only form she had ever seen her new Queen inhabit. The clothes were different, dark and loose, the makeup nonexistent. She was still striking, with a presence that likely served her well in front of a class. Zelda knew she was staring, but failed to pull herself away. 

Ms. Wardwell was visibly tense even before she noticed Zelda and the only change was in her startled blinking. Zelda rounded the bins of fruit before she realized it. “Mary, hello.”

“Oh! I didn’t realize we were that familiar. You’re Sabrina’s other aunt, aren’t you? I’m afraid your name escapes me,” she said, grasping her basket tightly.

“My apologies, Ms. Wardwell. I’m Zelda Spellman. Sabrina says you’ve been having some trouble with your memory.”

“No, no, Mary is fine. I do have some amnesia, but my short-term memory is perfectly intact. I assure you I’ve been deemed completely competent to remain principal.” Ms. Wardwell didn’t sound as if she entirely believed she should be entrusted with such a position.

“I’m not questioning your credentials, merely inquiring after your wellbeing,” Zelda replied, attempting to sound soothing rather than curious.

“Have- have we become acquainted over the last few months?”

“We’ve crossed paths.” Zelda felt as though she should elaborate, under Ms. Wardwell’s hopeful gaze, but didn’t quite know what to add. She was unfamiliar with mortals on a personal level, and generally happy with that, but felt compelled to reach out to the woman. “Ms. Wardwell, I have to finish my shopping, but if you would like, perhaps we can get a coffee together sometime. Or tea, if you prefer. Start our acquaintanceship over.”

“Oh, erm, perhaps,” she cast her gaze nervously back to the apples on display and Zelda said her goodbyes, doubtful that she would ever find out if Lilith borrowed more than Mary’s appearance. Yet she had a feeling that regardless, one can’t be touched by Lilith’s magic in such a manner and come out the other side fundamentally unaltered.

It was over a week later when Ms. Wardwell called on her, asking to meet at the cafe in Cerberus’ Books. Her voice was steady over the phone, and Zelda was surprised by how sweet and soft it sounded. She’d already decided it was a bad idea but agreed to see her late Friday morning when Mary was on her lunch and any nosy students should be in class. 

When she arrived, Mary’s hair was up again and her glasses on, but Zelda searched for signs of the Mother of Demons in her eyes, her posture, the movement of her hands. She had a milkshake in front of her, so Zelda got her coffee and joined her in the booth.

“How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine, “ Mary waved the question away with a tremulous smile.

“Are you?” Zelda persisted bluntly.

“I’m- that is- I wish I knew how to answer honestly. Zelda, how well do you know me?”

“I wouldn’t say I know you at all,” Zelda drawled, with deliberate carelessness.

“Then why did you want to meet me?” Mary already appeared defeated, crumpling in on herself, and it struck her as wrong, on this face, this body. Her stomach rolled with misdirected guilt and it softened her, against her better judgment.

“Perhaps I want to know you.”

Mary fidgeted with her wire-frame glasses, then stared determinedly at her untouched milkshake, “I suppose I should be upfront then. I’m missing months. I hear people talking about how differently I behaved. I can see the difference in my home, in my notes on students' work. I feel like there are consequences that just haven’t cropped up yet, and I don’t know if I’m more frightened or relieved to talk to someone who met me during that time. I worry that I had some sort of psychotic break, since the doctors have told me I'm showing no signs of physical illness. But sometimes I look into the mirror and I don’t know who’s looking back.”

Zelda sighed and reached across the table to take one of Mary’s trembling hands in her own. “I find the best thing when you feel like your own body doesn’t belong to you, is to do something that reminds you it does.”

Mary’s face got so kind that Zelda almost couldn’t stand it, and she straightened in her seat as though she was ready to take on Zelda’s burdens as well as her own. Zelda wished for a cigarette, wished she could pull Mary’s hair out of its ridiculous updo and promptly distracted them both with talk of Sabrina’s more mundane exploits.

She didn’t find Lilith anywhere in the meeting besides her own blackened heart, yet couldn’t say she found Mary unworthy of attention either. 

When she retired to her bedroom that evening, there was a large, dark owl feather on her vanity. She took it as a sign, a blessing. She prayed fervently, thanking Lilith for her favor, first clutching it between gentle fingers and then, after placing the feather safely in a box on her bedside table, with those fingers fast and slick between her thighs. _In nomine dea nostri Lilit._ She prayed until her prose lost form, devolving to single words and fleeting imagery, but kept on, _Lilith, Lilith, please, Lilith._


	2. I did not dare to reach for what I wanted except indirectly, subtly, by pain, concessions, sacrifice. - Anais Nin

Assembling a new unholy book had been her most daunting task. Objectively, there were more difficult things on her plate. The unholy calendar, re-writing ritual, deciding what traditions to do away with and what to keep. Dealing with anxious, angry, and bewildered congregants. However, the Book of Lilith would be the foundation of it all. There was comparatively little about Lilith in the traditional Satanic Bible, but she had pulled versions from various translations as well as consulting the Talmud and The Alphabet of Ben-Sira, comparing them to her own knowledge and the details Sabrina shared, piecing together the version that seemed most accurate and setting it aside for approval. Then she called for submissions, and they started pouring in. Little known gnostic gospels about Lilith visiting Eve in the Garden. Never before transcribed tales from old crones of witches fleeing their families or spouses, praying to Lilith for protection and deliverance being granted right when they needed it most, in spectacularly gruesome ways. She didn’t shy away from stories of children, either Lilith’s monsters or ones she’d reportedly stolen, incorporating into her drafts some of the fundamentals of demonology. And then there were the stories that are clearly of Lucifer’s bidding, not only full of death, but manipulation and profound suffering. Those made up a narrow majority of submissions and Zelda wasn’t sure what to do with them, but collected them dutifully. She smoked constantly while reading them, refrained from asking for clarity, but whispered words of comfort for the woman in them instead. The other victims were beyond her help.

Saturday afternoon, two weeks after their last encounter, she was organizing her notes into soft leather binders when Mary unexpectedly dropped by. Hilda knocked on her study door and peaked in immediately, jumping to speak before Zelda could chastise her for interrupting, “Erm, sorry, Ms. Wardwell is here. To see you.” Hilda widened her eyes theatrically, to show her alarm.

Zelda contemplated her options. The kitchen or parlor was likely to lead to interruption, and she’d been considering how to lay some groundwork if she were to continue down this path. “Really, Hilda. Show her in.”

“Into here? The study? Zelda, it’s _Ms. Wardwell_ ,” she whispered, eyeing Zelda’s desk and bookshelves with concern.

“I know what I’m doing, sister. But your concern is noted,” Hilda disappeared and a minute later Mary entered. There was a surety to her step this time that hadn’t been present in the previous meetings. It suited her, and Zelda tried to distance it from the affected seductive stroll she saw in her mind. Hilda murmured about bringing them tea before she closed the door. “Come in, take a seat.”

“I’m sorry to come by uninvited.”

“I normally don’t enjoy surprises, but don’t worry yourself. You’re welcome here.” Zelda sat next to her, rather than across the large desk and it seemed to buoy her even more.

“I don’t have much to do this weekend and staying cooped up in my big old house does me no good. I love the woods, but the isolation can be just as draining as city living. I went for a drive and found myself on my way here. But it’s quite alright if you don’t have time for a visit. Seems like you’ve got quite a project here,” she said, gesturing to the papers covering the desk.

“Mhmm, you’re not wrong,” Zelda took a breath, steadied by her righteous work, and the knowledge that Hilda would have a memory potion on hand, if this all went wrong. “I’m compiling an anthology of sorts. Fables of Lilith, the first woman. Ranging from ancient Sumerian translations to modern folklore. I’m specifically looking for connections to the practice of witchcraft and folk magic.”

“Oh, my,” Mary went pale, pulling off her glasses, then gathered herself and grinned with excitement. “How impressive. Have you found anything local to this area? Greendale has such a rich history of witchcraft and I’m rather invested in learning and documenting it myself.”

Zelda startled, uncharacteristically scrambling for words. “I beg your pardon?”

“Do you not know it? The Greendale Thirteen and the witch hunters? It happened in the very woods that separate our homes.”

Zelda was seized by a moment of alarm, wondering if this wasn’t Mary after all, but Lilith back to play new games with her and her family. “I know it. I just wasn’t aware you were educated on the subject. What sort of game is this?” she hissed.

Mary blanched, affronted, “Excuse me? I hardly knew you had an interest in the matter either!”

Zelda contemplated her options, looking at Mary -- her fidgeting and her bare, emotive face and the spot on her lip worn raw from biting -- and realized there was little evidence to support her paranoia, and that such an aggressive approach would likely not benefit her regardless. “My apologies, Mary. I was surprised, it’s not a subject that many will openly admit interest in, here in Greendale. And such coincidental timing, with my... little project here.”

“I’ve never had a problem, other than people thinking I’m odd, which has always been the case anyway. I’ve been studying the history of witchcraft in Greendale for years.”

“Ah, but the history of it focuses on the hunting of witches. The slaughter of thirteen women who did not fit society's idea of what they should be. Does it not?”

“...It does.” Mary admitted slowly.

“Of course the masses of Greendale find that more palatable, than a study of, say, modern witchcraft practices.” Zelda watched carefully for a reaction but was disappointed when Mary only smiled sadly.

“You think rather poorly of your neighbors, don’t you?”

“You have no idea.” 

“You should give them a chance. Is editing a usual thing for you?” Mary was itching to take a look at her notes and Zelda impulsively placed a hand on hers to keep her from rising.

“No, I’m something of a hobbyist occult scholar and this opportunity simply fell into my lap,” demurred Zelda.

“I had no idea we had so much in common.” Mary’s face was bright with interest and it was as happy and animated as Zelda had seen her so far. The feeling that she wanted to see Mary like this more often made her thrum uncomfortably.

“I suspect it’s not as much as you think. Tell me, why else do people think you’re so odd?”

"I try not to pay too much mind to it. It doesn't bother me, honestly, I'm- I was happy with my life. It's just, I’m not very outgoing, but I get very excited about the things that interest me. I want to share too much, I suppose. It’s been mentioned that it can be off-putting... And, of course, simply being unmarried at my age raises a few eyebrows, in this town. That was about to change, though apparently he’s gone now. Missing.” Mary responded, swallowing hard.

“Let me assure you, marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Zelda said wryly, though the timing gave her significant pause. She thought to offer Mary some degree of comfort, for both the loss of her fiance and the rejection she had faced, but such impulses were foreign enough that she felt incapable of breaching the barrier of her own self-control.

"You were married? What happened to... well, I suppose he wasn't Sabrina's step-father, exactly. But I don't recall her ever mentioning an uncle." Mary responded, becoming a bit unsettled by one more inconsistency in her memory.

"Oh, heavens no, he wasn't anything to her. It was brief and we... recently separated," she said, a flash of vitriol spilling out. Zelda wasn't sure if Mary was more taken aback by her turn of phrase or the fact of her marriage, but she continued, "I must say, I find it interesting that you believe I should give the same townsfolk that don’t appreciate you a chance. How magnanimous.”

“If you’re going to make fun of me, I can go.”

“I’m not at all. Surprisingly.” Zelda fell silent, observing Mary's doubtful countenance, unsure where to go from here. She had tested the waters on witchcraft and it had gone better than she could have hoped, but that was as far as her spontaneous idea went. She wanted to get closer, but all her centuries on earth she had believed it was wrong, and downright pointless, to mix with mortals. Now, she was stuck, unable to fully admit to herself what she wanted, let alone go after it. 

“What is it, Zelda? The way you’re looking at me…” Mary questioned, nervously, but without looking away, and Zelda marveled at the intensity of it.

“May I?” Zelda was already reaching out, slow enough for her to refuse, but she nodded and Zelda brought her other hand up to join, pulling pins and clips out of her hair, dropping them to the sofa, until it tumbled down around her shoulders. The look on Zelda’s face was reverent, and she knew she was exposing too much. Mary seemed almost fearful, but there was a matching edge of hope and curiosity under it. Zelda wondered, once again, if Mary had always been like this. “How much of your life have you spent afraid?”

“All of it,” she responded frankly. "That doesn't mean I let it hold me back." Zelda combed through her hair for a long minute, then slipped her hand down, running the backs of her fingers over Mary’s prominent cheekbone down to her jaw. The contrast of her loose hair and the schoolmarm glasses made Zelda’s mouth run dry. 

“And what are you afraid of right now? Me?” Mary flushed and shifted.

“Myself, if anything. I- I'm sorry. I- I do h- have to go.” Mary pulled away and rose quickly, fleeing the room and then the mortuary, both doors swinging shut loudly behind her, one moments after the last.

“Zelds?” Hilda called, coming in hesitantly, setting the tea tray down at the desk. Zelda sighed, patting the now empty seat. Surprised, Hilda came to sit beside her. “You alright, love? Do I need to get started on a potion?”

“Unnecessary. But, no, I’m not alright. I rather think I’m in trouble, Hilda,” said Zelda, forlorn.

“If this is all just about Lilith, I don’t know that it’s worth it, or fair to Ms. Wardwell.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Zelda tried to snap, but it only came out quiet and tired.


	3. This is what courage is. It’s not just living through the nightmare, it’s doing something with it afterward. - Leslie Feinberg

Lilith’s magic felt like stillness, a strange contrast for a woman who could be so intense. It was like walking into a forest clearing and having the breeze drop off, breathing crisp air in utter isolation with only something as old and powerful as nature itself separating her from the rest of the world. At first, it felt just as eerie as when she was a child, walking the woods alone for the first time. She hadn’t understood the intensity of her reaction and it left her startled and uncomfortable. All too quickly, it started to become as familiar as the wilderness around the Spellman property, and came with the same occasional urge to lose herself in it for a few hours.

So when the tight, choked feeling in her chest eased for the first time in days, perhaps weeks, she slumped against the chair of her vanity. She took an easy breath and with it came a scent of woodsmoke, tart fruit, and the slightest hint of sulfur. The name escaped on her exhale, “Lilith?”

The sound of her steps approaching was the only response and Zelda was quite abruptly reminded of the Dark Lord’s visit the night before her wedding, the unexpected strength of the memory wiping away the fleeting comfort of Lilith's presence. She stood and turned to face her mechanically. Her appearance was both familiar and not, sliding out of focus, as though she hadn't quite finalized a glamour. The smell of sulfur grew stronger and the whole room was tilting in a most disorienting manner. Even the feel of Lilith's magic sweeping through the room didn’t distract Zelda from her panic. Her vision went dim around the edges, all she could see was hooves and fur, but it was Faustus' voice she heard hissing in her ear along with the vision, the surety in the tone that he would be obeyed turning her stomach as much as the words. Her knees started to buckle and she fumbled for the chair to stay upright. The prayers were ingrained now, a comfort she reached for automatically in times of stress. _Hail Lilith, first among women, first among witches, our faith is with thee-_

Then the more familiar visage of the Queen of Hell was in front of her, all wild hair and slender limbs, clutching her hands and visibly unsettled. "Cease this, what-"

"I'm sor- I'm alright, I just need a moment." 

“Fine,” she replied harshly, but stayed with her, quiet and staring. Lilith's hands twitched to pull away, but Zelda couldn’t seem to let go. She slowed her breathing, forcing herself back together, feeling as though she was made of dry rotted brick, due to crumble again at any moment. 

She cleared her throat once, then again before speaking. “I’m blessed by your visit. What brings you back to Greendale?”

“Oh, just popping by for a chat. Do you think you could pull yourself together for it?” she asked, more softly than the words called for. Lilith slipped away, putting distance between them, going to fiddle with a perfume bottle on her dresser as though it were more interesting than anything Zelda had to say.

Zelda bristled and her anger made it easier to stand tall. “Of course. My apologies for my lack of decorum.”

She rolled her eyes, looking pinched at the response. “You hang so much of your worth on decorum. Would you rather do this downstairs?”

“Whatever you wish,” Zelda said, biting off the honorific that wanted to tumble out.

Lilith only smirked, as though she knew, settling on the foot of the bed with a small bounce. Her silky burgundy gown draped around her appealingly. _Praise Her_. Despite her bruised pride and lingering distress, the thrill she got from the sight made her feel school-girl young. But Lilith appeared as wan and tired as Zelda felt, and now was not the time, if there ever would be one. 

“Perhaps we should go downstairs,” she amended, causing Lilith to push herself from the bed slowly.

They made their way down to the kitchen, where Zelda pulled out the tea set and, when she turned around, found Lilith already had the canister of chamomile with lavender in hand. She wondered if Lilith had been visiting her sister, to develop an affection for a blend she always kept on hand, and held on to the burn of jealousy that thought caused. She powered through boiling the water and scooping the leaves on that emotion, letting the silence sit between them and grow, then hesitated when it was time to pour the steeped tea. Lilith waited an awkward moment, then batted her hands away to take over.

“You don't trust me,” she lilted while pouring. The non-sequitur had her turning away from the counter and lighting a cigarette. 

She took a puff before responding. “I don't know what you’re talking about.”

“You appointed yourself my High Priestess. My avatar here on earth, when I am in hell, and I’m just delighted to have you in that role. But you don’t trust me. You're wiser not to,” Lilith drawled.

“I’m flattered, but I haven’t the faintest what you’re getting at.”

Lilith continued as though she hadn’t interjected. "Don’t lie to me, and try to refrain from lying to yourself. Because despite not having been here with you, I know you now. I know your heart as no one besides Lucifer ever has. Yet I don’t understand what I've done for you to be so devoted to me despite your doubts. Maybe who I am doesn’t matter so much as the position granted to you. But I hear your prayers and I see what you are doing for me, for the witches under your care.”

Zelda swallowed, overwhelmed and unsure, “Lilith…”

“I wanted you to know, you’re safe with me. From me. You have my blessing to act as you see fit for the church. We’re in this together now, though it was very bold of you to assume,” Lilith teased, as though what she was offering was nothing at all. A part of Zelda wondered if it wasn't, if what happens with witches and warlocks could really be of any major consequence to her.

“You’re always with me, though. I feel you beside me, with me, all of the time. It’s not the same as this, but I knew I had your support,” Zelda confessed. “I wouldn’t refuse more frequent visits in person, of course.”

Lilith almost couldn’t look at her, at that, but the carefully neutral expression on her face went soft around the eyes.

Feeling very daring, Zelda shifted her weight against the kitchen counter, moving closer, just shy of their hips and arms brushing together, reveling in the electric sensation she felt growing between them. "Perhaps we should discuss business. The problem I’m having with the church is rather pressing. Well, hardly just the one, but I find this is preoccupying my mind the most."

"What is it?"

"I'm unsure how to move forward with reforming the church, in the way it needs. There are aspects that I know must go. The Feast of Feasts, segregated classes, everything that places a warlock's needs above a witch's must be rooted out.” Zelda quieted to a near whisper, not wanting to admit how lost she was. “But I've been immersed in this my entire life. I've defended every heinous tradition we have to Sabrina over the last year. After everything, I'm not sure I even know what's harmful anymore." She took another long drag and was startled when her cigarette was plucked from its holder for Lilith to smoke.

"Clergy inflicting pain on witches for their own gratification is harmful, Zelda. Beyond that, I'm not the one to ask. I think you've come up with your own solution."

"And what is that?" asked Zelda tightly, through a spike of embarrassment. 

Lilith went still, knowing the comment had wounded. "Speak with Sabrina and the others. She has no shortage of unique opinions on witch culture. Maybe some of them can be useful, despite her impertinence. After all, she's the one who made me realize my greatest power has always been rebellion."

"Perhaps I will. Perhaps it's time to get a few perspectives from those who've been deemed heretical. I seem to have no shortage of them under my roof."

"Even Sabrina's mortal friends may have some valuable input. While I'm sure you're loath to toss out anything based on the squeamishness of mortal teenagers, Roz and Theo were developing quite a working knowledge of intersectional feminism," she said, in a tone just mocking enough that it left Zelda feeling wrongfooted and unsure of her seriousness.

"You must be joking," Zelda said, flatly.

"What? I was their teacher, and had to sit in on all those boring club meetings," Lilith responded with faux innocence. Zelda was struck for a moment by the surreal nature of having Lilith in her home, her own cigarette in one hand and a teacup in the other.

"What has the world come to? First Ms. Wardwell, now Sabrina's friends. Are you encouraging me to let mortals in on all our secrets?"

"Hardly, though what you tell Mary is at your own discretion. I've interfered quite enough in her life."

"Are you… feeling guilty?"

"I don't know that I'm capable of guilt." The sudden distance in her voice made Zelda suspect otherwise. 

"You could check on her yourself, rather than encouraging me to do it." Lilith gave her a sardonic look, as though there weren't _ways_ to get around the obvious issue.

"Oh, but the payoff for encouraging you is so lovely." Despite the words, her voice was still flat and when Zelda turned to question her, the kitchen was empty. Only a lipstick-stained cup and a fading wisp of her magic remained. 

She huffed irritably, "We didn't even go over the book."


	4. The serious revolutionary, like the serious artist, can't afford to lead a sentimental or self-deceiving life. - Adrienne Rich

Lilith didn't return right away, but Zelda was reenergized. Her path forward was even more malleable than she had thought. She would reform the church in ways her brother could never accomplish, and there was both satisfaction and irony in that.

Magic was magic, and it must be paid its due, whether in time or energy or sacrifice. She had no plans to sanitize their practice. Death and sex were integral to it, but perhaps they didn’t mean much if compulsory. Perhaps they no longer had a divinity who would demand their own lives. Regardless, that was a price they could no longer pay, and one she would no longer be a party to. She did wonder if there could be more power in other sorts of sacrifice, if freely chosen.

She spoke to Sabrina. She couldn’t bring herself to approach the mortals but timed one of her conversations with her niece for when they were around, and indirectly solicited input when she thought Sabrina was being reactionary. She wasn’t sure she got anything concrete out of the conversation, but they did provide additional perspective.

Hilda was her most useful resource, by which Zelda was unsurprised. Her sister always had untapped depths of ability, it was the perceived waste of that which disappointed Zelda. The world was different now, and Hilda had taken care of everyone when Zelda had been unable. It was only another source of shame for the older witch that she had underestimated her sister for so long, and often made her particularly defensive in their conversations. But she was trying, and Hilda’s input had led her to a new plan.

She confronted her with it after returning from a trying day at the school, having found Hilda in the yard, taking advantage of the mild spring weather to garden.

"Hilda, I want you to take the lead with the Academy, once we reopen.”

"What? Oh, no, no, no. No, love, not a chance." She fumbled her spade, dropping it as she got to her feet.

"You're the ideal candidate. Children are positively obsessed with you and your grasp of hearth magic is unparalleled," she insisted imperiously, from behind her sunglasses.

“Are you complimenting me _and_ trying to give up power? Are you ill?" asked Hilda.

"We need to emphasize the importance of potion-making and natural magics. Less showy magic that has been devalued as women’s work." 

"Things that _you’ve_ devalued as well. And hasn’t the High Priest always headed the Academy?” Hilda questioned incredulously.

“Yes, I’ve been a fool. How kind of you to point it out," Zelda retorted. “I suspect the division of power will be a comfort to the survivors, after Faustus. Besides, it’s too much. The mortuary, the church, and the Academy, something has to give and there’s only one thing that can. Now, I know you enjoy your job with Dr. Cerberus, but this is more important.”

“More important to you. I have other things I want to do. Interests other than authority and religion!”

Zelda clenched her fists, wanting to throttle her. “This isn’t just about religion, it’s about our future and the future of our magic. If we don’t teach the children, either no one will or they’ll end up absorbed back into Satan’s flock. Is that what you want for them?”

“And if I refuse, you’re going to force it, aren’t you? Get me fired and manipulate me until I have to?”

“No.”

“No?” she echoed, disbelieving.

“Hilda, the coven is everything, and there are so few of us left. This is your choice, your opportunity. If you decline, so be it,” she said bitterly.

“It’s everything to you, not to me. I’ll think about it, sister.” Zelda waved her acquiescence and made her way to the house, ignoring Hilda’s added comment about dinner in the oven. Food wouldn’t dull the fear that her sister was truly set on a different plan for her life the way a drink would. 

It was late that night when Hilda closed her book, pinning Zelda with a hard look across the room they were once again, temporarily, sharing. Zelda let a smile play at her lips, sure then of what Hilda would say. “I’ll be your co-directrix -- oh, can we call it something else -- on a probationary basis. We’ll share duties and see how it goes from there.” She rolled over, hunching under the duvet, as though Zelda was going to refuse her or kill her for the impudent compromise. 

She began to see Lilith in her dreams. At first, she wasn’t convinced they were real, just a byproduct of her need to feel closer to Lilith, to know the unknowable, but that thought rapidly lost credibility.

They were strange and formless in parts. Sometimes familiar locales of the mortuary or the desecrated church, sometimes the deepest parts of the forest. Though when she looked too closely, their surroundings blurred and faded. A few times, she caught glimpses of fog and vast expanses, or ornate and unfamiliar rooms, as though they underlaid what she was seeing. Lilith didn't always look as she knew her, either. Once she was olive complected, with fine hair and full lips. Another time, statuesque, with brown skin and rich, dark eyes. A vast number of looks that made Zelda wonder how many women she had replaced in the course of her servitude. Though they tended toward middle-aged at the youngest, and shared the dramatic mein and unmistakable imposing air that was growing so familiar.

Zelda recalled that ill-fated passion play, wondering how weary Lilith was of being seen as Lucifer's malleable young handmaiden. She wondered how much more there was to it, that she still appeared as Mary Wardwell most of all.

Sometimes they spoke. About France in the 1920s, about witnessing the division of east and west Germany, about the odd dance of Victorian mysticism, sexuality, and repression. Lilith was reticent to open any topic, but her knowledge of world history and politics had both depth and breadth and Zelda finally understood how this supposed demon had passed as a civics teacher for months. Though sometimes the details shared were small and specific, and without context, giving the impression her experience with it was more personal. A comment about Cleopatra’s perfume or an anecdote about the inspiration for one of Shakespeare's comedies. Yet something about the way she spoke made it seem she hadn’t often spent such long periods among the living. 

She never spoke of fleeing the Garden, but just once, brought up scavenging in the wilderness, taking shelter in a cave that provided little respite from the cold and none from the loneliness. Desolation edged its way into Lilith’s expression against her will, right before Zelda woke with her face damp from tears. Zelda spent the day trying not to imagine that Lilith, abandoned and desperate, pledging her service to a man that would never honor his promises.

She prayed for strength for them both, marveling at the strangeness of praying to Lilith, for Lilith, but couldn’t imagine what else to do.

As the days had been getting longer, so had her time at the school. When they didn’t have any funerals scheduled, she often took her newspaper and left before breakfast, having her coffee in an annex off the chapel while she planned her day. It left Hilda to herd the remaining children, but they’d be in soon enough and she couldn’t bear her sister’s careful eye on whether she was eating. 

It was Hilda the children adored anyway. Zelda, they respected, at least, but with Hilda there was always someone, usually Elsbeth, underfoot, wanting to learn how to garden and harvest, how to brew, how to wash clean of a curse. No one followed her around, earnestly asking about summoning, elemental magic, or setting more complex protections.

There was still a great deal of reconstruction to be done on the school, moreso because she was using it as a practical lesson in warding and concealment, but several of their wayward teen witches had already relocated. Dorcas and Agatha, in particular, had chaffed under the unfamiliar supervision and had been the first ones to leave. A newly freed bed was reserved for Prudence upon her return, and Zelda tried not to speculate on what she would choose.

At the end of another draining day, she sat at her desk, in an office that made her nauseous and closed her eyes to shut it out. She didn’t spend as much time as she should there because of it, but was resigned to leaving it unchanged as a reminder of her weakness.

She realized it had been weeks since Mary had run from her. That was hardly a short time in the mortal world, but as a witch, it was so easy to let the days and weeks slip by into years. Especially when one was delving so deeply into arcane magic. That was a significant aspect of the veil separating them, the one she had once warned Sabrina of. She supposed it was time to give up hope that Mary would reach out again.

Opening her eyes, she stood and packed up for the day. She whispered her thanks to Lilith for getting her through the day and her hopes that Mary had been well.

Then she went out to the hearse and drove to Mary’s cottage.


	5. The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it - Oscar Wilde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An overdue update, but a lot happens, so please let me know if you're still interested. Lilith's due to be back in person next time.

The sun was beginning to set when she arrived, casting the house in a warm haze, and there was a big tomcat lazing in the drive. It only reluctantly moved as she pulled up, and she had to brake faster than expected to avoid hitting what could be Mary's pet.

As she got out of her vehicle to approach the house, a second cat scurried off the porch and back into the underbrush. Zelda rolled her eyes, of course, Mary was a _cat lady_.

Zelda knocked on the door, resisting the urge to get back in the hearse and leave before she actually had to speak to the woman. 

After long enough that she had changed her mind three times about whether this was worth it, the door cracked open. Zelda startled, as Mary immediately ducked down, shooing away at the apparent stray. "Oh, shoot! Come in quick, don't let her in, she's persistent!"

Zelda slipped by carefully, finding herself in a house that at first glance was as much Lilith as Mary, though that impression was aided by the dark wood wainscotting. Looking closer, it seemed an ill-fitting mix of cozy midcentury furniture and gothic accents. Unlit candles stood on round-edged oak wood tables and the window treatments were rich and heavy in appearance. She stood at the edge of the living room, noting the atrocious pastel blanket thrown over the back of the sofa. It seemed the most classically Mary thing in the room -- for its lightness and the distinct possibility that it was handmade -- except possibly the paperwork spread haphazardly in piles across the coffee table.

She removed her light jacket and slung it over one arm. There was a moment where Mary didn’t seem to know what to do, before she held out her arms for the jacket and hung it with a great deal of care on the coat rack by the door. There was a hamsa, silver and worn, hung by the doorframe. She resisted the urge to touch it, to see if it would buzz with Lilith’s magic.

“Was that not your cat?” Zelda inquired instead.

“Erm, not as such. I think I must have been feeding them through winter? A few have been hanging around lately. I might have to start again if they don’t head elsewhere. I feel too sorry for the poor things,” responded Mary, almost apologetically. “Have a seat,” she said gesturing jerkily at the room. “Would you like something to drink?”

“What are you offering?”

“Coffee, tea, or wine," she replied.

“Wine would be most welcome. Red?”

“Um, I don’t think...” 

“I’ll take anything, after today.” 

Mary made a concerned noise and disappeared into the kitchen. Zelda sunk into the plush sofa, not bothering to resist the urge to touch the crochet blanket, since no one was there to see it. Finally, Zelda did take notice of a similarity between Lilith and Mary, and it was only in how stilted they could both be. In Mary, it was palpable in her nervous tics and occasional stuttering. With Lilith, it could only be seen in the stiff way she held her body, more so when she was being herself than anything. As though she didn’t know how to relax when she wasn’t pretending. How many years had it taken, avoiding punishment from Lucifer, before she had forgotten how to be herself? How many years had it taken Zelda, for that matter, looking for approval from the Dark Lord, the Church of Night, and her brother? And had Mary also been so deeply shamed for merely existing, for not fitting some demure mortal mold, even as kind as she was?

She shook off her maudlin thoughts when Mary crossed the room to pass off one of the wine glasses. “I only had sweet white, I hope that’s alright.”

“Of course.” She took appreciative notice of Mary’s appearance as the woman moved to sit beside her. “You should wear trousers more often. They suit you."

Mary froze for a brief second. "I dress for myself and I'll wear what I like," she retorted, but softly, a little sadly.

Zelda sat back, wondering how she had offended so quickly. "Believe me, I wouldn't wish for you to do otherwise. You just look positively sinful in those." She regretted the statement immediately, thinking it too forward and too odd for mortal ears, as Mary started in surprise. "I've made you uncomfortable again. I shouldn't have come."

"Oh my, no, it's alright. Thank you? That was supposed to be a compliment, wasn't it?” She flushed red and the color trailed down her neck. “I wear them occasionally outside of work. I'm just a bit sensitive about these things, especially after some comments I've gotten recently." Fiddling nervously with her wine glass, Mary bit her lip lightly as she looked up at Zelda. "Why did you come by?"

"I haven't heard from you since you all but ran from my home," Zelda replied, keeping her voice airy.

"I didn't know if you would want to after I behaved so erratically."

"I fail to see what you did wrong. You were either uncomfortable or overwhelmed and removed yourself." Zelda took a sip of wine, using it to avoid eye contact. She knew what it was like to want to flee, even if it wasn't something she could allow herself.

"I suppose that's true."

“I should point out that you don’t have to run from me. If you tell me, I’ll do my best to refrain from upsetting you in the future.”

“It’s not that, you’ve been nothing but kind to me,” Mary insisted.

Zelda laughed humorlessly, “No one has ever accused me of that before.”

“I do know your reputation, and that’s made me a little wary, but it’s true. You’re one of the only people who’s cared enough to check up on me.”

“And how have you been, since we spoke last?”

“I, um, I’m still having nightmares. Bleak, dark scenes, full of pain. There's this unnatural, gnawing hunger. That first night I remember back in March, I felt an echo of it. And a full-body chill like I've never felt." A shudder ran through her. "I don’t think they’re going anywhere. My doctor’s prescribed something to help, but that’s almost worse than not sleeping. Most nights I end up out here, reading.”

“That’s often what I turn to, as well, when sleep eludes me. What are you reading?”

“I’ve just started on Swedenborg’s _Heaven and Hell._ After, um, revisiting _Paradise Lost_ and _Dante’s Inferno._ Something about the depictions of hell and suffering feel viscerally true to me.” Mary launched into a rambling explanation of their appeal and how deeply the imagery resonated with her, and though the subject matter was unfortunate, Mary became quite animated, gesturing as she spoke and Zelda couldn’t help but appreciate her passion. 

Still, it seemed Mary was worse off than she had thought, if she was so preoccupied with the infernal. “ _Paradise Lost_ has been a favorite of mine, though it rings rather hollow as of late. Swedenborg, on the other hand, was a clown. I’d recommend taking a look at William Blake’s critique. Those are rather dark choices for comfort, however.”

“I’m finding neither comfort nor answers in much these days, but at least this seems real.” Zelda’s eyes strayed to a framed print on the wall. It was one of Hieronymus Bosch’s darker pieces and Zelda had assumed it was an addition made by Lilith. “May I ask what it is keeping you from sleeping?” she asked, only the slightest stutter marking her words.

Zelda hummed a low note of surprise. “I have a great deal on my mind as of late.”

“With your anthology?” Mary slid closer, unable to fully contain her intrigue.

“Amongst other things,” she said, searching for something mundane that could be occupying her. Anything that wasn’t a lie.

“Maybe I could- If you want, maybe I could help? I know a great deal about the history of witchcraft, especially here in Greendale, and I’m at least familiar with the mythology of Lilith. But I’ve been doing some light reading! And once school is out, I’ll have more time…” She slowed, ducking her head with a faltering smile.

“This book is rather dear to me at the moment, but we shall see." Mary hid her disappointment well, but a stilted attempt at a reassuring pat to her arm distracted her even more than intended. Zelda went to drain her wine glass to drown out the rising pang of unease and _confusion_ and realized it was empty. 

“Oh, would you like a refill? Let me take that,” said Mary, reaching for her glass.

Zelda let it go easily, lost in thought. Moments after Mary ducked into the kitchen, Zelda stood, smoothing her dress, and trailed after her. “If my sister has an herbal remedy that could help you sleep soundly, would you be open to trying it?”

Mary startled, almost knocking the glasses she had just set down over. “Oh!” She turned, abandoning the glasses to look ponderingly at Zelda. “I- maybe. May I ask what it is?”

She stepped fully into the kitchen, noticing a bottle of liquor, half-full and slightly dusty, tucked back under the cabinets that Mary had not included in her offer. “A family recipe, I’m afraid. You’d have to trust me. It wouldn’t keep you from waking, just help ease the dreams.”

“I'm not simple, Zelda, I know there are things you haven’t told me. But I do trust you. It means a lot that you’re even here.” Mary further closed the distance between them with hesitant motions. 

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Zelda whispered solemnly. She tilted her head at the nearly empty wine bottle on the counter. “I don’t mind the riesling. I do have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

Mary barked a laugh and covered her mouth, surprised at her own volume. Dropping her hand, she twitched towards Zelda and abandoned the gesture halfway. 

"You're allowed to touch me, you know," Zelda teased, glancing at her from under lowered eyelashes.

"I didn't know. You never said." Mary's eyes were wide behind her glasses and she looked faint. But she just leaned in close, searching Zelda's face for a sign long enough that the moment became stilted, then kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Thank you." 

Zelda almost groaned in disappointment. Instead, she turned her head, her lips ghosting over Mary's as she lingered. She felt the gasp more than heard it, and finally, Mary kissed her. Slow and firm, backing her right up against the wall. Zelda all but melted into it, pressing her hands flat against the wood to stop herself from grabbing Mary in return. There didn't seem to be any veil between them now, and Zelda wondered when the last time was that she had experienced something with such uncomplicated feeling behind it.

Mary pressed harder against her, and it was glorious, but a prickle of anxiety rose in her chest at being trapped between the woman and the hard wood behind her. It pulled up the sensation of being shoved against a similar surface by someone much larger, her body reacting while her mind fought against it.

Suddenly, there were hands on her face and then Mary wasn't touching her at all. "Zelda? Zelda, you're crying." 

Her eyes snapped open and she dabbed quickly at her face. "I'm not." Her voice cracked. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Zelda. I shouldn't h- have done that. Please don't hate me. I know it's wrong, I won't-" Mary wrung her hands as she swiftly put space between them.

Zelda followed, unwilling to let Mary disappear on her again. Her heels clicked loudly on the floor as she tracked after her, back into the living room. “Stop."

Mary did, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

"Do you want this?"

"I _can't._ "

" _Mary._ You can have what you want," she said with exasperation. But she halted her advance, “It’s perfectly fine, of course, if this isn’t what you wish.”

"Why were you crying?" Mary questioned in a slightly pleading tone, as though the answer would allow her to escape her own feelings.

"That’s not an explanation I owe you." She tried to imagine what she would even say to a mortal. _My husband drugged me on our honeymoon and kept me like a doll to play with._ It didn't serve her to think about. "It wasn't you. These things happen." Zelda approached her once more. Mary had that look again, soft and worried rather than nervous. She wasn't sure it was an improvement. "Do you want this as much as I do?"

And then Mary was kissing her again. Sweetly, softly, before pulling away. "I want to know you're alright."

"I am," she said firmly, and it was true, for that moment. She pulled off Mary's glasses and set them on the coffee table. Coming back, she trailed short nails over the nape of her neck, dipping them under the collar of Mary's shirt and around to the front. Pushing her back towards the couch, she said, "Let’s try something else, hmm?"

Mary sat down hard and Zelda followed, smiling as she sat sideways across her legs, in deference to the fitted dress she was wearing. Mary chased her lips for a moment before she gave in, enjoying the building tension now that she knew it would be fulfilled.

She kissed with the brimming eagerness of someone giving in to temptation, of someone who thought it might be snatched away at any moment, yet still had the presence of mind to pull away to make sure Zelda was still focused and wanting.

Hands clutched at covered flesh and Mary whimpered into her mouth when Zelda’s dress rode up and she found the edge of her stockings. She was entranced by the band and the exposed skin above it in a way that seemed almost sweet, tracing it repeatedly until Zelda squirmed restlessly.

Zelda was shoving off Mary's loose button-up when she realized she should rein in her urge to hurry things along. After all, there was still the possibility that this was the only chance she would have to experience this, if either one of them came to their senses. She supposed Mary deserved to take her time, as well, as it seemed she had been denying herself for far too long. 

She took in the disheveled woman in front of her, admiring the flushed cheeks and awed expression she was sporting. It made her hesitate, caught in the unexpected magnitude of the moment, but she pulled Mary’s hands to the half undone buttons of her dress. Mary fumbled to finish the job and they moved together to pull the dress off. 

"Anything you want." She mouthed at Mary’s neck. "I'll tell you if it's not alright."

“I just want to make you feel good,” Mary whispered. She did take her time, stroking soft skin and ridding her of the rest of her clothes. They ended up reclined on the sofa with Mary partially atop her, but it wasn't suffocating in the least. If Zelda expected to have to coach an easily spooked Mary, she was pleasantly surprised, for Mary was enthralled and vigilant about reading her responses. And if her hands shook, neither of them dwelled on it. 

While arousal always came easy to her, climax had been more elusive as of late. When Mary touched her, she felt at home in her body for the first time in months and that was more than enough. It was borderline miraculous. But under Mary’s attentive caress, and gentle weight and half-formed words of encouragement, warm waves of pleasure washed over her. She turned her head into a cushion that smelled like Mary -- to avoid those too blue eyes -- and was coaxed to a peak that wrenched through her with surprising force, bringing her back to the edge of tears.

Afterward, heart still pounding, she got up on shaky legs and planned to make her exit, but Mary was a vision, still dazed and slouched into the sofa, bare from the waist up. Instead, Zelda found herself lowering to her knees and reaching for the button of Mary’s pants, wanting to worship in a way that had little to do with Lilith. But Mary's hands fell to hers, "Come... come here," she breathed, appearing conflicted, and pulled Zelda back up clumsily enough that it left her grinning as their lips met once more.

"You haven't always lived in Greendale, have you?" Zelda asked, much later. Mary was a Greendale fixture, as ubiquitous as the mines and just as full of hidden depths, but there had to be more than that to her history. 

"My family has. I lived in the city for a while, while I was in school. It, um, had its charms. It was nice to have a community, though it only provided the illusion that it was any safer than here," she replied, sadness clear in her tone.

"What happened?" Zelda asked, unsure she wanted to add to the horrors rattling around in her brain. They were stretched out under that awful, but quite soft and warm, crochet blanket as she played idly with Mary’s loose hair, sifting through thick strands of chestnut.

Mary stared at the ceiling, tugging Zelda as though she could get any closer than underneath her on the narrow couch. "I had someone I wanted to spend forever with. We weren’t together, exactly, but… She was lovely and tough as nails. And brave, so much braver than I. I've never met anyone more determined to be exactly who they are. She went out to the bar one night and- and got hurt. I was so afraid," her voice hiccoughed on a suppressed sob. "I called all our friends, but no one knew until the police came around later that day. They never caught the people who did it."

"Mary…" She held her quietly while Mary restrained her sorrow from pouring out for Zelda to see. She wondered how she had ever gotten in this deep.

"It wasn't home after that. When my parents got sick, I had to come back here. I was afraid and I told myself I could be different. But I'm not. I think I'm being punished for it. That, and not believing more." 

"You're not being punished, Mary. There's nothing wrong about these feelings," she tried not to say 'feelings' like it was a curse but wasn't entirely successful from the way Mary eyed her. "Or our actions. Really." She plucked at Mary's discarded blouse. "Your bible forbids mixed fabrics. While I see its point about polyester blends, that seems a tad excessive. Why take such a thing seriously?"

"Why take my faith seriously? That's quite a question." Mary said, with layers of bitterness.

She combed through Mary's tangled hair again. "I suppose it is. Though they may take a different form, I'm no stranger to such struggles."

"You don't strike me as the type."

Zelda rose, leaving the blanket behind. Mary blushed to the tips of her ears, despite everything, and once again it slowed her escape. "There are more religions on this Earth than your dear Christianity." She fluffed her hair and dug around to locate her cigarettes before bothering to sort out her attire. Rumpled and post-coital suited her and she wanted the image to stay with Mary when she tried to castigate herself for her sins.

"And what do you follow, then?"

"Still being determined," she said as she pulled on her dress. "But that's a story for another day."


End file.
